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As Vincent d'Indy, one of Franck's most gifted and famous pupils, writes: "Here, in the dusk of this organ-loft, which I can never think of without emotion, he spent the best part of his life.
A few other notable books of the century call for enumeration, The Gentleman's Recreation by Nicholas Cox , Gilbert's The Angler's Delight , Chetham's Vade-Mecum , The Complete Troller by Robert Nobbes , R. Franck's Northern Memoirs , and The True Art of Angling by J.S. . Of these Chetham, Nobbes, Franck and J.S. have the merit of considerable originality.
But this was, as we have said elsewhere, to narrow Franck's mind; for its great charm lay in its harmonious union of religion and liberty, which never limited its artistic sympathies to an exclusive ideal.
Since then twenty years have passed, and I still see M. d'Indy as I saw him that evening; and, whatever may happen in the future, his memory for me will be always associated with that of the grand old artist, presiding with his fatherly smile over the little gathering of the faithful. Of all the characteristics of Franck's fine moral nature, the most remarkable was his religious faith.
But it was only with the composition of his oratorio "Les Béatitudes," completed in 1879, that Franck's great period commences. The man had finally been formed.
His faith too.... I know how dangerous it is to interpret a musician's feelings by his music; but how can we do otherwise when we are told by Franck's followers that the expression of the soul is the only end and aim of music? Do we find his faith, as expressed through his music always full of peace and calm?
Small wonder that devout commentators have discovered in this music, so uncorporeal and diaphanous, a Christian intention, and pretend that in Franck's mind Psyche was the believing soul and Eros the divine lover! Tenderness, seraphic sweetness were the man's characteristic, permeating everything he touched.
And, certainly, no composer, Mozart alone excepted, has discovered such naïvely and innocently joyous themes as those that fill the close of the sonata and the symphonic variations with delicious vernal sunshine. The career of one fated to serve the art of music in the Paris of Franck's lifetime, and to wait thirty years for the flowering of his genius, was of necessity obscure and sad. The
None has felt Franck's power, both morally and musically, more than M. Vincent d'Indy; and none holds a more profound reverence for the man whose pupil he was for so long. The first time I saw M. d'Indy was at a concert of the Société nationale, in the Salle Pleyel, in 1888.
Finally Franck's story was extracted from him. It was by painting the portrait of the head-steward that he had lived so handsomely on the steamer and had landed on American soil with fifty dollars in his pocket, though a day later not a cent of the fifty dollars was left. "Money's a nuisance," said Franck. Up to this point a wholesome-looking waitress, in white cap and apron, had been serving.
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